


The Last Drop

by cicatrix (nematode)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dehydration, Delirium, Dorian is a Good Friend, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stupid Boys being Stupid, hyperthermia, this is very old I wrote this like a year ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nematode/pseuds/cicatrix
Summary: “You know I'm not an ice mage, right? It truly would be a lot less effort on my part to just put a lightning bolt through your skull than it is toattempt to keep you alive.”“You underestimate yourself,” Bull states, not looking up from helping Lavellan sit up and drink the damn water that everyone seems to think is endless.Dorian briefly weighs the pros and cons of mercy-killing the Inquisitor's paramour.“Put down that canteen or I willput you down.”The cons just barely win. And mostly just because he's sure Lavellan would toss him in the Fade if he dared.---Lavellan comes down with hyperthermia at the worst time possible. Bull attempts to take care of him. Lavellan attempts to take care of Bull. Dorian is the only one competent enough to take care of anyone.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Male Lavellan, Male Inquisitor/Iron Bull
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	The Last Drop

**Author's Note:**

> I just remembered that I wrote this fic around a year ago and dug it back up, cause why not add more silly hurt/comfort into the world. Also, hello, I am still around and still writing these dumb boys. I'm currently working on a fic that I want to wrap up before I start posting chapters, but I'm about a third of the way through it. It's a post-Trespasser mess that's Fenris/Male Hawke and Iron Bull/Male Lavellan and is going to be long (120k+ words) and painful. I hope everyone reading this has a good new year! Posting on AO3 and getting back into writing was a really special part of the last year for me, so shout out to all y'all still reading DA fics :)

As the seconds pass and not one more drop of water falls, Lavellan's tongue loses the last bit of moisture it has left. It's almost funny, he muses, how bodies always scream hardest for relief the second they realize none is coming.

He shakes his canteen above his mouth one last time before twisting the cap shut in resignation.

He's always the first one to run out of water. Bull swears he'll get used to the heat eventually, but he's got his doubts. His clan had always been cautious about venturing too far from comfortable territory, and certainly never made it anywhere near these damn Wastes.

Sera and Dorian seem to release complaints instead of sweat to cool down. Bull just trudges on, skin flushing the color of nightshade under the unwavering sun.

Lavellan unscrews his canteen and raises it to his mouth. Nothing.

_Always the first to run out._

He longs for the snow of Skyhold, or even the slightly less miserable heat of the Western Approach. The wide-brimmed hat Bull had insisted he wear does little to stop the light of the sun from making his head throb.

He knows Bull would give him his water if he asked. Wouldn't even complain, would just pass it over, even if it was the last drop, even if his own canteen was still full. Just _here you go, Boss_ and an amused look in his eyes, which Lavellan would no doubt interpret as pity.

He tries to remember how long it had been since they last stopped. Hours? A day? It's like his throat has been coated in sand when he opens his mouth to ask, so he shuts it and licks his lips instead.

How often did Dorian say he could conjure up more water again? Lavellan tries to work through the math in his head, but finds his thoughts just pedal through the same cycles over and over.

– _they'd been walking for – and Dorian could refill their canteens every – if they'd last stopped –_

“Boss?”

Lavellan blinks the sweat out of his eyes. He looks up and sees Bull in front of him – hadn't he just been staring at his back?

“Huh?” Lavellan asks. “Did you need something?”

“Do I – look, Boss, I turn around and you're just standing there fingering that canteen.” Bull chuckles. “Takes a bit more practice than _that_ to get something wet. But I guess you wouldn't have much experience there, huh?”

“Oh.” It's the only thing he can think of to say. He hadn't noticed he'd stopped walking.

Lavellan sees Bull's expression change, losing any trace of playful teasing, eye and mouth straightening into lines of concern.

“You feeling alright, Kadan?”

“'m fine,” he mutters. “Think I'm finally adjusting to the heat.”

“Hmm. For some reason, I doubt that. I don't think melting into an elf puddle counts as getting used to it.”

“No, no. Really. I'm alright.” He wipes the hair that's stuck to his face back behind his ear, squinting and hoping he looks more put together than he feels. “It's starting to feel a little cooler, actually.”

Lavellan only sees Bull's eye widen, not his hand move. The fingers that graze under his chin and settle on his neck catch him by surprise, but it's pure muscle memory that makes him lean into the touch, tilting his head up. Bull grants him a trace of a smile, but it's with closed lips and ends before it reaches his eyes.

“You're feeling pretty clammy, Kadan,” Bull says before pressing gently into his neck. “And I'm not liking this pulse.”

“You don't... need to be so rude about it.”

“I'm not – Oookay, we're going to stop now, alright? Just hold tight, I'll squeeze some water out of Dorian and you can lie down. I think we all ran out a while back.”

Lavellan doesn't nod, but feels his chin fall as Bull pulls his hand away.

“Uh – hey, lovebirds? No time.”

Lavellan looks up at Sera, and sees green.

He thinks he might vomit.

“Shit!” Bull unlashes the axe from his back, dropping it unceremoniously. He places one hand on Lavellan's arm and the other on his back, the former pushing him down to the ground and the latter gently guiding him. “Kadan, I need you to just sit and hang back, alright? Just keep your ass on the ground and yell my name if something's coming this way.”

“I can fight,” Lavellan says, squinting up at where green flashes are framing Bull's face.

“You really, really can't. Just... try not to pass out, okay?”

Lavellan looks down at his legs that aren't moving, expecting them to be buried in sand for all the resistance he feels. Nope, just folded beneath him.

“Let's make this fucking quick, alright?” He hears Bull howl.

Lavellan isn't sure how much time passes. He wonders if light green has always made him sick, or if this is something new and fun to deal with. Every time the sand flashes that color, he flinches but can't seem to force his eyes to look up.

He knows he should be moving. Nothing makes sense, nothing is connecting – every thought he tries to gather seems to fall apart in his head and scatter to the wind. But there's something tugging at him, a muffled voice telling him that there's something he should be doing.

He buries his head in his knees, feeling like his stomach is about to plummet off a cliff. He can't stand to look at that light anymore.

This has to be over soon. The sand is swallowing him whole. He's going to be buried here until the sun melts his flesh away.

“Breathe.” He hears the word like it's all around him, feels the hand on his shoulder like it's everywhere. It's gone as soon as it came, but the feeling gives him enough to lift his head.

He breathes. The hot air feels like acid pouring down his throat. But the rise and fall of his lungs is real and it's familiar and it holds him steady.

There's commotion in front of him, glints of silver and bursts of red carving out shadows in the green light. His pulse races enough that he can finally feel it again, and his body feels drawn forward even as his instinct screams at him to run away.

There's a flash. A slow shock travels through his body, like a snake wrapping around his bones and leaving them shaking behind it.

It's a familiar feeling. He stares at his hand and wonders if something is going to crawl out.

“ _Close it!_ “ He hears from a distance.

“ _Aw, shit on a frigging stick. Did he seriously pass out?”_

Lavellan sees three figures rush towards him, makes out the first as his Bull, who holds up a hand to the other two. Bull, chest heaving and shoulders hunched, approaches Lavellan like one of his clan would approach a wild halla ready to bolt.

There's a haze around his vision, but he can see his other friends staring at him with expectations and fear. Lavellan knows they want _something_ from him, but all he wants is to find an oasis and fall asleep in it.

Bull flicks his eyes behind him, and _oh_. Oh shit.

The weighty reason why he's here in the first place, the reason for those looks comes back to him all at once. The ground seems to part beneath him, leaving him floating in an abyss he doesn't know how to run from. Maybe it would be a good thing if the sand swallowed him after all.

It's going to hurt. He wonders if this time it will kill him.

_No, oh gods no._ He shakes his head so frantically the hat falls off, fingers twisting in his hair as he squeezes his eyes shut.

Bull crouches beside him, one hand on his back, rubbing soft circles around his shoulder blades as he leans in close. Lavellan coughs out a sob, and if there was any water left in his forsaken body he's sure he'd be crying.

“Kadan.”

“I can't do it, I can't – please, Bull, don't make me.”

Bull's eyebrows raise as his hand freezes on his back. His next words are measured, a gentle tone but a clipped rhythm. “We're not gonna make it another round, Kadan.”

Lavellan unravels his hands from his hair and grips Bull's wrist, pulling him to look into his eyes. His head won't stop shaking. “It's going to kill me, Bull, please, no, no, _no_.”

“It won't, Kadan. I swear on my own life.” Bull uses his hand to remove Lavellan's from his arm, keeping Lavellan's trembling fingers cupped in his own as he flips his hand over.

The glow pulsing from his palm burns his eyes, and the longer he stares the more he feels lost in it, his entire body bound to that throbbing beat. It's as if a rope is threaded up through a hole in his hand and wound tight around his innards, and every few seconds it's being tugged towards another world.

He retches.

“Fuck. You are far gone, aren't you?” Bull wraps an arm around his shoulders as he hunches forward. Lavellan leans into the touch as Bull combs through his hair, the rough fingers against his scalp and slight tugging at the tangles giving him something real to focus on. He prays for the gods to give him some other choice.

“You can do this. Remember how it feels.”

_Screw how it feels,_ Lavellan thinks. Screw the buzzing in his palm, screw the agony of forcing his dumb, glowing hand to cooperate.

But it's a pain he's dealt with before, time and time again. And this isn't going to end without it.

With as deep a breath as he can manage and a complete disregard for the wishes of his body, he raises his hand. Bull supports his elbow from below and he's grateful for that, since every muscle screams for him to put his hand down and bury it in the sand.

Light bursts from his hand and he feels the moment it connects to the rift. Air wheezes out of him in shallow gasps until all the feeling in his body starts to drift away, miraculously taking the pain with it. Bull's arm holding up his own is the only thing he can feel, the rift the only thing he can see. And as the darkness seeps into the edges of his vision, he feels like he sees the closing in its reality for the first time.

It really looks like there's a rope of light extending from his hand and stitching the rift back together, pulling the fabric of the world back together.

The final inch of the tear draws together, washing away the sickly green stain off the desert, just seconds before Lavellan passes out.

* * *

Waking up feels like trudging through a swamp.

Lavellan opens his eyes and immediately regrets it, shutting them with a groan. The heat is inescapable. At least he feels like he's back in one piece now, and not scattered across the desert sands.

_Gods,_ _what was that?_ The lingering anxiety in his chest makes him wonder if he's just woken up from another bad dream – stuck with strange images in his heads and words that don't quite fit together, like a reflection of reality in a dirty mirror.

But his memories are just an endless stretch of sand and sun, aches in his legs and sandpaper in his throat. And then... Oh. Oh gods. Then he'd really just sat and huddled while a rift poured out demons to attack his friends, and then whined like a child when it came time to do his one damn job.

Even with just a glimpse, he can tell he's in a tent – so they must have made it back to camp alright. Without his help.

He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, cringing at his own incompetence. _Embarrassing_.

He's stripped to just his underclothes, sweat painting them to his skin, but his fingers brush against something on his forehead. It's cool and wet and is therefore his new favorite possession in the entire world. He drags it down over his eyes and lets out a sigh. It's just a modest relief, but it's the only one in this damn wasteland.

“Hah, thought you might like that.”

Lavellan brushes the cloth off only the left side of his voice, where he heard Bull's voice from. Bull is sitting next to him, hunched over a touch to keep his horns from poking through the too-small tent. He looks surprisingly put together for how much he's sweating.

“I think my insides melted,” Lavellan mutters.

“You know, you had me pretty convinced of that for a while too. Gave us all a bit of a scare there.”

He flinches. There was an undercurrent of genuine fear in Bull's words, and for anything to actually frighten the man, let alone enough to make him show it – something must be wrong.

Lavellan knows he was a fool to think he could escape this ordeal with everyone unharmed. He fucked up, and someone must have paid the price. His body tightens in anticipation of whatever terrible news Bull is waiting to deliver. “Is everyone alright?”

“Oh, yeah, more or less. Dorian is doing his best to keep a supply of ice around, but he's all _something something, no water in the air can't magic it out of nothing something something big dumb southerners._ The usual complaints.”

“Oh.”

Bull tucks a hand under his back and slowly guides him up to sitting. Lavellan cringes on the way up as bile gathers in his throat. Thankfully, Bull doesn't remove his hand, just starts rubbing circles as his other arm reaches behind him.

Lavellan raises one eyebrow when Bull wiggles his own, then involuntarily gasps when Bull whips out a canteen from behind his back. He reaches out to snatch it, not able to help himself, but Bull swipes it out of reach.

“Sorry, don't trust you not to drop it. Shaky fingers.”

Bull untwists the lid of the canteen, raising it to Lavellan's lips. His throat spasms in anticipation. He tilts his head back and Bull raises the canteen with it, finally.

Lavellan swears he's passed into the Beyond. Nothing ever has and probably nothing ever will taste as good as that water. It's lukewarm at best and gritty with sand, but he'd march an army into this waste to get more of it. He gulps it down as quick as it comes, which is frustratingly slow.

Bull pulls it away right after the last drop falls out. “Congratulations, Kadan, you made drinking water look dirty.”

Lavellan snorts, blinking away the haze from his eyes. He lets his body enjoy the brief high of relief.

“Hey, Kadan, listen...” Bull trails off, and Lavellan sees his eye wander off to look at the tent flaps instead of him.

Bull doesn't get nervous that easily – frustrated, sure, but rarely will the man refuse to look at someone headlong. He doesn't _think_ Bull would tell him everyone was fine and then go back on that a minute later, but he still braces himself. Maybe he was just waiting to be sure Lavellan wouldn't pass out again?

“I'm listening, Bull. You can tell me.”

“I wanted to apologize for earlier.”

“Apologize?” Shocked and more than a little concerned, Lavellan moves his hand to lay on top of Bull's own curled fist. “Bull, what in Thedas for?”

“For forcing you to close the rift, even when you were – pretty damn sure you couldn't.”

“Oh. That's all it – Bull, come on.” He looks straight at Bull, who still won't meet his eyes, and musters confidence into his voice. “We didn't have another choice.”

“Didn't we though? We could have run, I'm sure the demons wouldn't have followed us forever.” Lavellan hums but doesn't respond beyond that. “Listen, I just... I don't want to feel like I can overstep and make those decisions for you. That should have been your call.”

“No, Bull. I was delirious. I was just following my instincts, which we both damn well know aren't always right.” He squeezes Bull's hand after it still doesn't relax. Bull finally looks at him again, but his eye still reflects only shame, a sight that feels like a hook pulling at Lavellan's chest. “I'm glad you were there, Bull. So I'm a little... I'm a bit of a puddle right now. Better just me for a little while than all of us wiped out permanently. I'm pretty sure I was going to pass out one way or the other back there.”

Lavellan feels a wave of relief wash over him when Bull's hand turns over and squeezes his back. And maybe it's not the best timing, but the words bubble up in his head and before he can weigh them, he just starts speaking again.

“Besides,” he whispers. “It's not like I haven't made some big decisions for you before.”

Bull's fingers twitch. The words are a branch between them, one that Lavellan lets hang in the balance for a minute, seeing if Bull will grab it.

Bull says nothing. _Still not ready to talk about that then_ , Lavellan thinks. He wonders if Bull's mind is back on the coast, or if he's resolutely stayed in the moment like always.

“Sometimes we need that space,” Lavellan mutters. “Sometimes we panic and just can't think. I trust that you know me well enough to know the choice that I _would_ make if I could. You know?”

Bull stares down at him, and the furrowed look on his face makes Lavellan wonder if the heat has turned his words into nonsense. He thinks back on what he just said, trying but failing to discern if it was just been a stream of bullshit.

“I trust you too, Kadan.”

_Okay,_ Lavellan thinks, a spool of pride winding up in his chest at getting Bull to acknowledge anything about that day. _That's a step_.

“But. _You_ need to pay more attention to your body.”

Lavellan sighs in frustration. Tit for tat on sensitive topics, huh? “Okay, fine, sure. Well, my body says it's time for me to go back to sleep.”

Bull chuckles and takes the canteen away from him. The thin blanket Lavellan settles back down on doesn't do much to disguise the fact that it's sand underneath it, just as the tent does little to keep the hot air out. Bull sweeps the damp hair away from his forehead and tucks it behind his ear.

“Your ears are burnt.”

“Your entire body is burnt,” Lavellan mutters back.

“Nah, I don't burn. I just get less gray. This sun is good for me – the south has made me pasty.” Bull takes the tip of Lavellan's ear and gives it a light pinch, which makes him wince and weakly bat Bull's hand away. “See? Burnt. You need a bigger hat.”

Lavellan groans in disapproval, but as the silence settles down around them, he smiles softly up at Bull. Bull returns it, and they hold each other's eyes for a minute, like this entire thing, this ache and affection and unending pull towards each other, is a sly little secret kept hidden from the world.

The sudden blare of a crash outside startles that thought out of him. The two of them still, both trained to block their instincts enough to assess the situation. The sound of wood snaps somewhere.

Then, a scream. Followed by a stream of Tevene curses.

“ _Bull!”_ Dorian calls from a short distance away. “Get out here, you lazy oaf, we're being attacked!”

Bull springs onto his feet. Lavellan tries to sit up, but Bull holds a firm hand on his chest and leans over him, face grim enough to scare any other man than the one beneath him.

Knowing he'd never stand a chance against Bull's strength, Lavellan summons that infamous authority into his voice. “Let me _up_ , Bull.”

Bull just shakes his head, already moving towards the exit of the tent. “No, Kadan. You're going to stay here, and stay as quiet as possible.”

“You really expect me to just sit here while everyone is attacked? _Again?”_

“Yes. You know how you said sometimes we need to make decisions for each other? Well, Kadan. This is one of those times.”

And Bull leaves. Lavellan spits out a curse, waiting until he hears the clash of iron and the crack of lightning. He's not going to sit around for the second time in one day, knowing his friends are exhausted and taken by surprise.

He sits up. A pounding starts in his head. He can do this, he thinks. He _has_ to do this. He manages to get to get his feet under him, the uneven sand under him throwing off his balance.

He falls over, realizing a second too late that it's not the sand making the world spin, and instead a crash of dizziness that knocks him back on his ass.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he spits out. With a clench of his fists, he rolls throws himself forward again, thinking he can propel himself at least onto his knees with the momentum.

But he ends up catching himself on his hands, and has to take a second to center himself. He digs his hands into the blanket beneath him, wheezing out a few harsh breaths at the effort. He can do this. He just needs to get _up._ An ambush of all things should be enough to keep him on his feet, he manages to think before his vision goes black.

* * *

Waking up the second time is magnitudes worse than the first. If the first time was like trudging through a swamp into consciousness, the second time is like suddenly finding himself being tossed and turned inside a pot of boiling water.

Only there's no water, and the tossing is just his stomach churning. He grasps around blindly next to him, desperate to land on something either wet or vaguely container-shaped. Nothing. The cough that wracks his body feels bloody, like his throat has finally scratched itself open.

The one relief is something under his arms, something _cold_ , though that chill doesn't quite spread to the rest of his body. He tucks his hands into the crooks of his arms, desperate for more of that ecstatically cold sting against his skin. He has to wonder if he's finally gone crazy and his mind is just floating back to Skyhold.

He does notice there's a slight, rhythmic breeze coming from behind him. Did they put him outside? It sure feels like the sun is beating down on his body. He hugs his arms close to keep the cold sacks tucked under them and turns towards the wind, blinking the sweat out of his stinging eyes.

“Oh, you're up.” Sera, legs crossed and head propped up on her first, pauses in fanning him with... a shield? A circular, slate-gray shield that he definitely doesn't recognize. “You worried me for a second there, you know? Thought about farting and then fanning it into your face to get you up, but you're awake now, so... guess not, huh?”

Lavellan picks up on the nervous twinge in her babbled words, even with every sound he hears feeling like it's dribbling through a strainer into his brain. “What happened?”

“Eh, the usual bullshit. Some raiders attacked camp. Either looters or some Venatori really down on their luck, heh. Managed to get the jump on us though, sneaky bastards.”

Considering Lavellan is fairly certain he's in the same tent as before, they must not have done too much damage. “How are Bull and Dorian?”

“Oh, _Sera's_ fine, thanks for asking.” When Lavellan doesn't respond, too busy trying to process each increasingly muddled word, she continues. “Dorian's... well, he's fine, but he's gone dry. Last I checked he was pacing around saying some real nasty shit about this place.” Sera heaves a sigh. “So, we're low on ice.” She points to the two bags of ice someone had stuck under his arms, probably the only reason he hadn't just withered away while unconscious.

“And water. That bit you have there might be the last of it for a while.” She gestures behind Lavellan's head, and he manages to crane his neck back enough to see a singular canteen.

He grabs it and gives it a shake. His throat feels like dried out clay, cracking apart and begging to soak up any sort of relief. There's _maybe_ enough for a few sips, which he knows he really should space out, if Dorian's out of magic and they're out of lyrium... He uncaps it and downs it in one gulp.

Sera snorts. “Well, try not to move around too much then.”

“And Bull?”

She pauses, scratching her chin as she looks up. “He's... So, Dorian ran out of power maybe halfway through that fight, and with you being, you know, here... He had to go full powerhouse back there.”

Lavellan squeezes the empty canteen between his hands, suddenly afraid to breath. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah, he's... he's kinda overheated, so he's taking a nap right now. The two of you are pretty much overcooked twins.”

His mind races. Bull is _big,_ he needs a lot more water than any of them, and if they're out, he must be... Images of Bull going pale, pulse fading, coughing flash through his head. Oh gods, he shouldn't have rushed to drink that water, Bull needs it more and probably feels infinitely worse than him at that moment.

“I need to go to him,” he mutters.

“Oh no, no you don't. Andraste's ass, this is why Dorian told me not to tell you. Bull's a tough guy, alright? He can handle a little heat.”

He stares up at her, heart still pounding.

“Seriously, relax. He's fine. Now I'm going to get out of this friggin' stuffy tent. You just stay put, okay? Yell if you need something.”

After a short stare down, he nods once, definitively. Sera crawls to the edge of the tent, turning back to give something between a salute and a wave.

Lavellan holds the melting ice close to his chest and prays for haste.

* * *

“Oh, _absolutely not._ ”

The only movement from Lavellan, really the only way Dorian can tell he's still conscious, is his back rising and falling in slow breaths. He keeps his overly flushed face tucked on top of his arms, eyes rolling up to look at Dorian after a few long seconds. Dorian gets the feeling he isn't actually seeing him, eyes instead just reacting to his voice like it's a sound from the other side of a wall.

Every few seconds, Lavellan's entire slumped over upper body rises as Bull's chest inhales beneath him.

“ _You_. You are coming with me. Wait, did you – where is the ice I gave you?”

Lavellan just curls tighter over Bull's sleeping form and mumbles something into his torso that sounds like the protest of a man clutching his final drink at a tavern.

Dorian steps over Lavellan, but it's only when he grabs the bags of ice sloppily placed around Bull's neck does the man below him react.

“Wait – he needs those. Give'm back.”

“No, _you_ need these. Look at you! You're practically banging down death's door.”

“He _needs –“_

“ – _you to get off him and go back to your tent._ Bull is a big boy who learned to share his ice, he'll be fine.”

Dorian bends over and slips his arms under Lavellan's shoulders, standing back up with very little effort. The struggle Lavellan puts up as Dorian quite literally drags him back to his tent is about as strong as the sacks of ice that wriggle around in his hands.

“I have to help him,” Lavellan whispers as Dorian sets him down and places the ice back around his own chest. His words come out slurred and cracked, and it sounds like speaking them is a victory in a battle against his entire body. It's impossible to tell if it was actually a plea to Dorian or just his own inner monologue. Somehow, even with the disgusting heat and endless bustle of babysitting two sick men with very little magic, the helplessness of the words makes him shiver.

“Lavellan, you are... my dearest friend,” Dorian says with as much softness as he can manage, brushing the hair off Lavellan's forehead. “But you are also _completely_ insufferable. There's a saying for men like you up in Tevinter, you know? Your mind is a hallway with no doors.”

It shouldn't be surprising that the only response he gets is a cough dry enough that he can practically feel it in his own throat. There's not enough energy left in him to conjure any more water yet, and _he_ at least knows better than to overstrain himself in this heat.

Dorian sighs as Lavellan tries to roll himself over and fails, collapsing onto his back and groaning. “You are determined to find the line where compassion turns into a deathwish, aren't you?” He mutters mostly to himself, before leaning over Lavellan to stare into eyes that don't react beyond dilating a touch at the change in light. He speaks slowly and with obnoxious clarity, like a parent trying to instruct a child. “Right now, the only thing you need to do to help is sleep.”

Lavellan looks at him like he's reciting some sort of blood magic incantation, words completely incomprehensible and slightly terrifying.

“You'll be alright. Both of you will be – I swear it to you.”

Dorian only relaxes once he sees Lavellan's eyes flutter shut, sticking around just a minute longer to be sure his chest continues to inflate.

He swears at that moment that he's never setting another foot in these damn wastelands.

* * *

“For heaven's sake – Lavellan, you are not _nearly_ as sneaky as you believe you are right now.”

“He needs – I have to go... I can _help_ him – hey! Let _go_ of me.”

“Shoo, shoo. _You_ are the one that needs help. In many ways.”

“Dorian, no, please, you don't get it – he's _melting_.”

“I – melting? Really? No, my dear, idiot friend. He's very much not. And I swear, if you even attempt to get up again, I will tie you down and _make_ you stay in that tent.”

“...No, Dorian, that's _Bull's_ job.”

“You absolute – I have no words for you! Congratulations, you have rendered me speechless. ... _Can you stop rolling around already_? You're filthy enough as is. And just you so are aware, I am never letting you live any of this down.”

“Can you just... can you promise you'll take care of him?”

“Yes, Lavellan. I promise I'll keep your massive Qunari boyfriend safe. Now _you_ just be a good boy and stay here, okay?”

“'Mmkay.”

“...I wonder if Varric is shooting himself in the foot somewhere for missing this spectacle.”

* * *

“You know I'm not an ice mage, right? It truly would be a lot less effort on my part to just put a lightning bolt through your skull than it is to _attempt to keep you alive._ ”

“You underestimate yourself,” Bull states, not looking up from helping Lavellan sit up and drink the damn water that everyone seems to think is endless.

Dorian briefly weighs the pros and cons of mercy-killing the Inquisitor's paramour.

“Put down that canteen or I will _put you down._ ”

The cons just barely win. And mostly just because he's sure Lavellan would toss him in the Fade if he dared.

“This is his, I'm just helping him drink –“

“It's not, I _know_ that's yours. If you've suddenly discovered the secret to not needing water, by all means _please_ let me know.” It's hard to tell which man looks worse at this point, one flushed pink and dripping in sweat, and the other gone gray and still as a rock.

“I am fine, Dorian,” Bull says, before continuing to mutter.

“Are you? Because you're speaking _Qunlat_ to me, you giant fool.”

Bull's eyebrows raise as he blinks, seeming completely surprised at his language switch. He caps the canteen and lays Lavellan's head back down, each movement slow and precise, as if he's trying to prove he can do them without fumbling.

Like a sun-bathing cat, Lavellan's eyes are half-lidded as he relaxes into Bull's touch on his forehead.

“Okay, enough! Andraste help me, if you don't get back to your tent _right now_ I will light this entire camp on fire. I'll do it, I will just run back to Tevinter and we will lose to Corypheus because you two idiots couldn't keep your hands off each other.”

Bull rises to his feet, probably as fast as he can manage, leveling Dorian with a petulant stare. “You know, I – “

“ _Out. Now_.”

“Okay, but – “

“I do not want to hear another word from you unless it is _thank you Dorian for keeping my oversized ass alive even when I would much rather die painfully from dehydration in the desert because I am too arrogant, stubborn, and imbecilic to drink_. _My. Own. Fucking. Water._ ”

Dorian wonders if he's the first man to ever see the mighty Iron Bull skitter away from anything in fear.

* * *

Sera would later describe the sound Dorian makes when he finally gives up as a brain-damaged nugg giving birth.

“Fine! You know what? This is just marvelous. I could not possibly care less.”

Lavellan and Bull continue to sleep, the two men tangled together on their sides, each of them holding bags of ice steady under the other's arms. There's at least one other bag pressed between their legs.

Air passes between them in an endless alternating cycle of breaths. Lavellan's chest rises as Bull's falls and then rises again, but Dorian can see that the rhythm has at least returned to normal, and neither of them shudder with each inhalation anymore. Even the color in their cheeks at some point tilted from corpse-like to just sun-kissed and dusty.

“The two of you are absolutely impossible.”

Dorian bends down and gingerly sets two half-full canteens on the ground, then changes his mind and picks one back up, taking a large swig of it. He shakes his head at the two figures in front of him, vowing that this is just the first of many, many drinks they owe him.

“Sleep well, idiots.”


End file.
